Dragons Among Us
by GaleSynch
Summary: A fierce dragon resides in us as easily as demons do. Magical as this world may be, I think Earth had been a safer place. SI-as-Dragneel-sibling. AU.
1. i

Hiro Mashima © Fairy Tail

* * *

><p><em><strong>i.<strong>_

_**Dragons Among Us**_

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><p>Every part of my body was sore.<p>

My arms trembled from the strain of one whole day's work of slaving away. Thinking about my predicament pricked hot tears in my eyes.

Why do I cry even after so long?

I was what … six? Seven? I'd been a slave since I could walk. My fate sealed since my foster mother—the one who'd found me among the ruins of a village—picked me up and chose to raise me. Brought me back to her village that was invaded by worshippers of a cult.

What was more insulting and aggravating and shocking? The boy who ruled this place, this prison.

His name?

Jellal Fernandes.

The first time I learned that, I was so shocked I had to fall senseless to the ground. I didn't faint, I just had to sit down and process that information. I thought my inmate was deranged and delusional then, and the other prisoners were crazy for playing along too, but they all repeated the same name when I asked who kept us prisoners.

Jellal, a fictional character from an anime I'd nearly forgotten. I thought this was a sick joke—a nightmare was more like it.

The rest of the prisoners often told me how lucky I was, that I started working only after the revolt had succeeded. They say this was paid work, they lead tough and weary lives but they were happy and they no longer suffered. From what my foster mother had told me, she said that a few years back when I was still too young to work, the person in charge was demonic, working them all to the brink of death.

But then Jellal, their so-called savior, had come and gave them a new way to live: to build a tower that would be humanity's salvation.

They were all brainwashed by him and worked tirelessly to help him fulfill his goal. Quoting an old man, "We are forever grateful to him and this is our way to repay him for the entirety he has done for us."

I had never met the boy himself until I was forced to work for my share of food.

There was no mistaking that bright blue hair, hazel eyes and that odd mark over his right eye. Being the youngest among the workers, he singled me out. Ruffled my hair, smiling a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and told me to hang in there and that I'd get used to it and that it would all be worth it in the end, my work would be rewarded generously by Zeref.

Zeref.

_So_, I was reincarnated into the world of Fairy Tail.

The memories were vague and jumbled but as I grew older, it came back. I was five and the memories that came rushing at me showed me another world, through the eyes of a girl. A world that didn't consist of this. It was hard to decipher what the dreams meant at first but I came to realize I was a reincarnated soul.

I had lived a happy life with my family, with parents that were normal and siblings that may be annoying but also totally normal—okay, I'd consider a trans abnormal but whatever.

I don't recall how I died or came to be. I remembered vague pieces of being an infant and being carried around but that was it. I had been in this tower for as long as I could remember, I had never stepped out of this place yet I had memories of another, vast world, which led me to that conclusion.

I wasn't quite fully That Girl in the dreams anymore but I wasn't fully, really, Niran. I was a mixture of both. But I couldn't exactly confirm this.

People that might help me were far away. The reason why I didn't instantly recognize the world I was born in was probably because I was in an island far, far away from the titular guild.

I could deny it all I want for the first few years of my life but after seeing Jellal Fernandes in person, I felt that I could no longer deny it.

I had been reborn into a fictional world to a set of dead parents. The village the woman—Niniane—had found me in was burnt to the ground. The meaning of my new name—Niran—was a sick, ironic joke: flames. But that had been what was sewn into the hanky found tucked in the bundle of infant that was me. If I strained my memory, I could almost recall the suffocating smoke clogging my airway and the kiss of flames nearly scorching me. Beyond that, my memory stretched long enough to recall every detail of my death—the feel of my foot stepping on the wrong gear, of speeding closer to the tree—and my everyday life before the first death: of Hiro Mashima's masterpiece.

Any longer alone in that burning ruins and I'd have been scot-free—not bound for a life of slavery for how many years before the main cast came and defeat Jellal.

He was flesh and blood; the hand that fell to ruffle my bubblegum pink hair was proof of that. I was trembling in shock and in fear when I realized who he was so his hand lingered deliberately longer to frighten me.

The people I called prisoners were actually volunteers. No one had dreams of leaving. I have no idea what charm Jellal had placed on them but I was displeased. They even told me how lucky I was for having Master Jellal pay special attention to me.

(They were nuts.)

I was ready to leave this stinkin' R-system.

There was one tiny problem: I had no way out. There were no boats and I could recite in my sleep how that came to be. The older prisoners murmured darkly of the red-haired traitor.

Erza Scarlet. That was her name. I spent one whole day wracking my brains for her name; it had been years since I watched the anime and I admit, I didn't have the best memory.

"Niran!"

I blinked, raising my head when the woman called my name for the third time.

"Yes, Mother?"

My tone was formal, curt even. As was usual, I caught the brief flash of hurt in her eyes, before she pulled up the smile that I had gotten quite used to seeing: smile that hid the fear in her eyes. I knew why there was fear whenever she saw me. I wasn't a normal baby, I didn't giggle or cry nor did I reach out for hugs, I never thirsted for her affection. I could speak words she swore she had never taught me.

Ever since I realized I was a baby, it had been a damned torment. I had to put up with being helpless and dependent on the woman to keep me alive. I started crawling and walking earlier than babies usually do. I was quiet, never laughed nor cried.

What was the point?

Crying wouldn't make things better; and I had no reason to laugh.

This place was a prison no matter what they say, they were just deluding themselves.

The woman I had yet to affectionately call 'Mom' was still staring down at me, a glazed look in her eyes. "If you hadn't noticed, Mother," I pointed out with a tiny hint of sarcasm seeping through. "I'm quite busy carrying rubble."

"I'm sorry," she said helplessly. I had already lost count of how many apologies she gave me. And I wasn't always sure what she was apologizing for. That she had led us into this sorry excuse of an existence or that she had done something to displease me or she simply liked saying those words, as if they soothed her.

I shot her a look of deep impatience.

Niniane Makenna wasn't a bad person; she was just … weak-willed, a nervous wreck of a woman—something broke her here in the prison and I didn't want to know what.

(Men were such savage creatures.)

She loved me, I could see it in her eyes, no matter who much she thought I was unnatural, a freak.

"It's okay," I grumbled, eyes softening. Sometimes, I felt like her parent instead of her child—even though we weren't blood-related. "I'm just sore all over. So," I prompted, awkwardly. But this wasn't unusual. Once I was old enough to hold conversations, we had two modes: awkwardness or silence, which made me feel horribly inadequate. "What did you want?"

"I got you your favorite treat," Niniane said, eyes lighting up as they often did whenever she tried to cheer me up. I think I preferred it during times like these. "You like strawberries, don't you?"

"Y-yeah," I muttered, gazing at the fresh strawberries in her palm. In this life, I had only eaten strawberries twice. I suppose it wasn't that much of a surprise that Niniane remembered I loved this fruit; it was, after all, the first time I smiled genuinely at her.

"You have a beautiful smile," she'd told me later when I asked why she laughed and looked so happy after she'd fed me the strawberries, holding me close to her chest—I was about two or three. "You just don't smile often."

"It might not be as sweet as before though," said Mother, apologetically, bringing me back to the current time.

"It'd be sweet if you dip it in chocolate," a completely unfamiliar and new voice butted in.

Mother was so startled, she jumped—always, always high-strung and jittery with nerves—and the strawberries dropped out of her hand. I stared blankly at the dirty treat before, hatefully, teeth gritted, I raised my head to see who had interrupted. My glare was vicious but my fury stuttered and faltered when I saw Jellal smiling—_the smile that didn't reach his eyes_—at me.

"M-Master Jellal," Mother whispered, casting me a frightened glance. She whisked her dark hair from her eyes, which meant that she was nervous. The fear on her face made me wonder if she went through illegal means to get the strawberries.

Jellal gazed curiously at us, then he stepped forward. His eyes were locked on my own. Something in the air fluctuated. Something I couldn't place bore down on us. I shifted closer to Niniane; her breath was hitching and even though I struggled to move my eyes away to check on her, they wouldn't move.

This overbearing presence … powerful aura … magic … he was using magic to unnerve me.

I know it. This wouldn't have happened in my old world. No matter how scary that someone was, you wouldn't feel like there was a purple shroud reeking from their shoulders, and that aura wouldn't have erased the rest of the world from your sight.

I didn't like the look in his eyes. The fear that gripped my chest, forming a knot in my throat— uncomfortable and suffocating— I tried to calm down, but I was so emotional, my panic drowned everything to a loud, vacuuming sound—

I winced. A strangled shriek tore from Niniane's throat as the spot where Jellal previously stood exploded into nothingness. There was a tiny crater where he once stood. Her hands flew to her heart, gripping the fabric over her chest. Her breath came in short gasps. Any longer and she'd go into shock.

In a rare occurrence of tenderness, I reached out to take her hand in mine. I felt the calluses of her skin, the fragility in her bones.

(I didn't delude myself into thinking that the blue-haired boy was dead as much as I wish it was so.)

"See, Jellal? I told you there _are_ others."

Jellal's voice right behind me startled me bad but I credited myself for not leaping like a toad just because I was taken by surprise. A shudder rippled through me. "I suppose so," he hummed. "Niran's Eternano seems to be twice of a child his age."

My heart thumped uncomfortably loud and I wondered if Jellal who stood directly behind me could hear it. Sweat broke out as the thought of rebelling rifted through my mind. However, I was unsure as to whether or not I could physically overwhelm him.

Being a measly, emaciated six-year-old and he being a healthy twelve-year-old, I assume my chances neared absolute zero.

"Perfect," growled the gruff voice and I finally raised my head to see who had been Jellal's companion. Mother squeaked and backed away, hands slipping out of my touch, when he strode towards me. _Thanks, Mom_, I thought sarcastically. "This child's talent would be completely wasted in continued slavery. Niran, was it?"

Seeing no other option, I nodded.

He extended a worn, cocoa-skinned hand toward me. His charcoal eyes were actually kind. Long silver-gray hair framed his face strong-jawed face; he was a thickset man, a firm and unwavering air around him. I stared at his staff; it was long but what drew my attention was the skull on it, and the blue orb in the skull's mouth.

A memory nagged at me, slotting itself perfectly into the scene before my eyes.

"Y-you are—"

"My name is Brain," he said before I could finish asking. "And I would like you to come with me."

He was shining with a beacon of hope, my way out of this prison, this slavery; what would _you_ have done?

I reached out and I grasped his hand.

**~{I}~**

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><p><em>I'm rewriting so much these days. -.-; But I'm really fond of the idea of this fic so instead of abandoning it, I decided to just polish it, add some elements, and make sure the characters are more developed. I feel that in the last version, they were rather OOC. Bare with me. ;.;<em>

_Edited, Tuesday 23 June 2015_

**R&R**


	2. ii

Hiro Mashima © Fairy Tail

* * *

><p><em><strong>ii.<strong>_

_**Dragons Among Us**_

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><p>The seagulls cried overhead, overtaking the clouds, dotting the sun occasionally.<p>

Dolphins chattered among the waves, sometimes swimming close enough to the ship that rocked on blue waves.

In all my life as Niran, this was the first time I'd seen the sun—and anything other than the Tower of Heaven, actually. I used to despise the sun that had been the cause of my death—skin cancer—and now, I was whiling away the journey to the mainland by standing directly beneath the sun. I never thought I'd miss the sun and I didn't realize I did until I'd finally seen it after so many years.

The sun scorched away the years in the Tower of Heaven: the despair, the hatred, the misery. I could almost dream of a brighter future.

Almost.

We weren't at the mainland yet.

I was alone.

Well, not really. I knew there were others here. Brain, for one was around. Then there were eight other children—even though it might be a stretch to call them that, most were nearing their teens. This ship was powered by magic so no crew; Brain manned everything here.

A hand fell on my shoulder.

I started slightly, whirling around to see what had torn me out of my reverie. His dual-toned hair—black on the upper half and white on the lower half—was what gave him away first. I nearly didn't recognize this mopey boy the first time I met him: Macbeth. Or, known by his real name, Macbeth. He didn't talk much—if he did talk at all—and I had yet to hear a peep from him. He gestured for me to follow him.

I trailed after him. "My name's Niran Makenna," I said, breaking the silence. "If you didn't know, Macbeth," I added, making it clear that I already knew who he was.

Macbeth's pale lips parted, as if he wanted to speak, but a dull flush crept across his cheeks—from his right ear to his left—and he chose to clamp his mouth shut, nodding instead. I figured it would be pointless to ask why he was so quiet at this point.

Macbeth led me to the dining room—or whatever dining rooms were known as in ships, mess hall maybe? Tension rested heavily on my shoulders as the _children_ came into sight. I could easily pick out the younger versions of Oración Seis' members and they didn't bother me at the moment. After seeing how … tame … Macbeth was, I figured the younger versions of them weren't threatening—not yet.

It was the unfamiliarity that unsettled me.

Shane and Mel were unknown elements. If they hadn't made it into canon and members of the Oración Seis, it was easy to theorize Brain got rid of them because they didn't make the cut.

That had me thinking: maybe there was no Niran Makenna—no seventh member—in the series because … Brain got rid of that kid, too, for being useless.

I had to clenched my teeth behind my pursed lips to stop them from chattering and giving me away.

I'm going to survive, I thought to myself as I took a seat next to Macbeth, finding him to be the safest to be around for now, I'm going to live.

I hadn't been born into this world to be killed. No existence could've been as pointless as _that_.

I was going to make something of myself—something _great_.

But first, I've got to fill my stomach. The best thing about being on this ship, of being free, was the full stomach. I had a tremendously fast metabolism, I ate twice as many as the other kids and I was just lucky my body hadn't stretched sideways. But I really, really needed the food because I was super hungry.

"That's fast."

I looked up from my sparkling clean plate to see the long-nosed Sawyer. He really reminded me of Pinocchio though I wasn't sure if this world had such a fairy tale. I wouldn't have recognized him as Racer had I not recalled Racer's real name. "What's fast?" I wondered, mildly surprised he was attempting a conversation with me.

In the Tower of Heaven, no one spoke to me aside from Niniane simply because they thought I was too young, too childish to be able to hold a proper conversation. If not that, they shied away, refused to meet my gaze. The gaze of eyes too old for a child, too aware and too lacking of cheer—the eyes of someone who'd been locked up and struggled to thrash free.

"How quickly you eat, I mean," Sawyer clarified, leaning on the desk. He was setting his plate down in front of me and Macbeth. There were only two tables. Macbeth and I sat alone at the table closest to the exit—so I could make a strategic retreat when necessary—and the other children converged at the remaining table. Until Sawyer decided to join us.

I shifted slightly in my seat. "I chew quickly."

"Won't you choke?" Sawyer wondered. "No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to eat as fast as you. It's like the food just disappears into your mouth without being chewed!"

I snorted. "I was _that_ hungry."

Accepting that answer, Sawyer plopped down across from us. Across his shoulder, I saw Erik trying to feed his pet cobra a piece of the bread—this was ridiculous, could snakes eat that? Beside him sat Richard—Hoteye—who was gazing at a potato reverently.

All kinds of fucked-up.

And I was going to survive this bunch, I swear it.

"How about an eating contest, Niall?"

"Niran," I corrected. In my periphery vision, I saw Macbeth's red eyes shifting from me to Sawyer. "And you're on, Sawyer."

I smirked.

**~{II}~**

We would be reaching land in a few weeks.

During the first seven days, Brain had hinted heavily that the useless kids would be returned to the Tower of Heaven or worse, killed. In my opinion, the former was worse. So we completed whatever Brain assigned us readily, without as little mistake as possible.

It also turned us all against one another.

No one wanted to go back to the Tower of Heaven. Brain decided to teach us the basics of hand-to-hand combat and supervised us himself. Being the smallest and youngest of the lot, I was easily tagged by them as the weakest.

I wasn't insulted. Let them underestimate me.

I had very little sleep due to paranoia; I wouldn't put it past the kids to smother me in my sleep. From what I could observe, the rest of the kids had very little sleep as well, if the black rings around their eyes were anything.

I yawned, shuffling into the ship's dining room. Only Mel was there; she glanced up, saw me, and quickly looked down. She was nursing a cup of hot chocolate; her quiet sips filled the silence in the air. Of us all, she was the quietest—perhaps second only to Macbeth—and drew little attention to herself, she didn't go out of her way to avoid us but she didn't try to get to know us either.

I think that this was a very smart move. The less we knew about the other, the better, when we were inevitably pitted against one another, we wouldn't have much more trouble obliterating the other. I just knew we would be forced to fight one another. There were only six wizards in the guild Brain planned to form.

And unless I managed to escape—and to where? There was only sea around us and without magic, I couldn't imagine my chances of survival were high—I was probably going to die.

Ever since we stepped onto this ship, we had entered the preliminaries.

I was going to survive, by hook or by crook.

My lips were pulled into a grim frown—as I contemplated what to have for breakfast. I was careful to keep Mel in sight. They say the quietest ones were always the most dangerous. Case in point: Macbeth.

It was a minor detail: the darker hand-print on her red mug.

(—and for the rest of my life after that, I would never be able to bring myself to hold a red mug)

But her hands weren't quite that large. And who on earth would hold a mug so tightly that they would leave an imprint?

That was when I saw the magic circle, a small circle, barely the size of Brain's fist.

I didn't have time to scream a warning, instincts kicked in and I bolted for the exit, my heart accelerating in fear.

The following explosion brought everyone running. My ears were ringing from the sound of the explosion. I was dimly aware of Brain pulling me to my feet.

"What happened?" he inquired, sounding rather calm, as he waved his staff, smothering the flames. The smoke was clearing as Klodoa absorbed it.

I clutched my arm, even though the explosion had not reached me, I could still feel the heat. My heart was slowly working its way down my throat now that I was out of the immediate danger zone. I was scared. "Er…" I didn't know what to say myself as I had no idea what happened. Saying that an explosion had occurred was stupid. "The mug Mel was holding … exploded. There was a magic circle above it, I saw—before it exploded."

"Did you do it?" asked Erik, awed as he was suspicious and wary.

I shook my head. "No, not me. My magical ability isn't that … and I never touched the mug. It had a hand-print on it." My eyes strayed to the kids. "One of ours."

Sorano gasped softly, eyes widening. In spite of the wreckage, she was approaching the scene. "Is that … Mel?" I turned and nearly lost whatever content there was in my stomach.

It _was_ Mel.

What was left of her that is. Her corpse was … black, burnt, charred and the _smell_—

My hands flew to my mouth, bile already pushing to be spilled at the disgust. Only I seemed to be horrified. Not many of them were as curious as Sorano was to be poking, prodding and tugging.

For all the beauty of magic, I lived in a world of monsters.

**~{II}~**

It was him.

When we saw Mel's corpse, he was the only one who didn't react in my way or the others' way—he stood back and observed his handiwork instead of inspecting the aftermath of it. And I knew the other five perfectly well; none of them had such abilities. Shane, however, was an unknown adversary.

The next few days passed uneventfully, but everyone's nerves were jittery. Macbeth jumped at every movement anyone made and it really reminded me (guiltily) of Niniane. I slept even less and had even more nightmares. It wasn't Mel haunting me, it was showing me various scenarios of what I would've become had I not managed to escape just in time.

_deathdiedying_

Sawyer—whom I could actually see befriending—ran everywhere. He used training as an excuse for speeding here and there. I think he was straining to be faster than he was now so that he would be able to escape danger faster. They didn't react as outwardly as I did but I saw it in the small, miniscule gestures of Macbeth and Sawyer that they weren't as impassive as they tried to make it seem.

_Death or liberty._

It was on the second week that something happened.

I didn't know why he waited so long but one night, when I was finally able to fall asleep, a dreamless sleep to top it all off, _he_ took action.

Muffled screams reached my ears, the sound of something crashing loudly against the wall jolted me awake. I applauded myself for not reacting, my eyes flew open, wide and alarmed. It took me a few moments to adjust. It was deep into the night and …

I squinted, rubbing my eyes off the crust of sleep. Hoteye was staring, wide-eyed at me. He raised a finger to his lips, signaling silence. The sound of muffled screams grew more urgent. I rolled over and saw—I inhaled sharply—Shane trying to murder Macbeth in his sleep. A pillow was pressed over Macbeth's face; the latter was smaller and younger than Shane who was the second largest, after Richard, but Macbeth was putting up a rigorous fight.

I stirred, nonplussed and confused.

Why wasn't anyone doing anything?

The bed above me creaked and I knew Sorano—who I shared the same bunk with—was awake. Across the room, I saw Erik and Cubellios' luminous eyes watching, alert and fearful. Sawyer who slept atop Cobra was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. They were all aware what was happening but they weren't stopping Shane. Understandable. After all, what was there to be gain aside from an enemy in the form of Shane?

Macbeth's thrashing was growing less and less violent. He was probably losing consciousness.

My hand slid under my pillow, gripping the kitchen knife I'd _borrowed_ without asking a few days before. I should just let them kill one another, saves me the trouble and I had the feeling that this would be where Macbeth would awaken his magic.

_Why should I interfere?_

But Shane … he was vulnerable now. His back was open. And I'd known firsthand how dangerous he was. He was the largest threat among us, what with his ability to freely utilize magic.

Macbeth went limp.

I didn't think; I acted. In half a second, I'd launched myself out of the bed, knife grasped tightly, and stabbed downward blindly.

Shane howled in pain. I had missed his neck—my sight had never been the best in the dark—and if I had to guess, the knife was probably embedded deep into his shoulder blade.

Macbeth—still alive—gasped hungrily for breath, rolling out of the bed and onto the floor, the other side of the bed, coughing and spluttering.

With a roar, Shane threw me off him. I rolled away, well aware that I had miss an opportunity and if he utilized his magic now, I would be dead meat. Fear and adrenalin thrummed in my veins. He staggered to his feet, still wobbly, weakened and pained. I was suddenly aware of how dark it was and I could barely make out his figure in the dark.

I inhaled sharply—

Someone else acted: the sound of shattering porcelain told me that Sorano had used the plates she'd taken—so she _did_ have a solid reason, and here I thought she liked collecting plates. Shane shouted angrily, Erik's voice braiding with his, "Go, Cubellios, bite him!" Feet pounding and darker shapes blurred, barreling into Shane. Erik's form moved, lightning quickly, and he joined the brawling trio with a guttural battle cry.

Sorano had retreated, alternately throwing plates that shattered when it connected with something solid; more than one boy was yelling in anger and pain. I clambered back onto my bed, out of the line of fire. Richard bustled onto my bed and vaulted off, tackling the three boys.

"Let go!" roared a voice I recognized as Shane. Something exploded. I cringed, not moving, palms slicked with cold sweat.

"Get the lights!"

Sorano obeyed and with a slap of the switch, light flooded the cramp quarters. I was momentarily blinded and I had to cover my eyes. Once I reopened them, I saw Sorano chucking the last of her plates at Shane's head; this time, her aim was true. His head lolled.

Richard who was restraining Shane winced as a stray shard cut his forearm, he was bleeding. There was Shane's handprint on the front of his shirt. "Thanks," he grumbled, sarcastic.

Sorano shrugged. I glanced at the rest of them. Macbeth had pulled himself back onto his bed, chest still heaving; his eyes were wild as he searched for an enemy, lips still tinged blue. Erik was cradling his pet snake, lower lip bleeding. Sawyer's right eye was swelling. Both boys had a handprint on their cheeks.

"Niran," said Richard, breaking the stunned silence—we actually did it, we subdued the strongest out of all of us! Shane was limp in his hold: Angel's plate connecting soundly with his head had knocked him unconscious. "Can you please get the sack from under my pillow?"

I did as told, senses heightened by adrenaline, and handed Richard his sack, curious as to what he'd do. "Help me roll Shane into it," he grunted, dropping the unconscious boy.

"We're throwing him into the sea?" Erik sounded hopeful. "I've always hated that bastard."

I used the knife and cut a fine ribbon from my thin blanket. "We can tie the sack up so he'd have no chance of escaping," I offered, not meeting Richard's eyes. I knew exactly that, from the moment I spoke, what I was committing myself to: a murder. That did not mean I liked it; but I did want Shane dead and deader.

I fixed my gaze pointedly across the room, on Sorano. Her adorable little face was set into an expression of ruthless triumph. I could see the woman she'd grow up to become. The clarity of my memories were sharpening: being around them brought back memories of happier times when I could hole up in my room and read manga for hours on end, sometimes joined by my younger brother.

Drawing myself out of my memory, I turned and inspected the quiet boy I'd taken a liking to: Macbeth was trembling slightly but when Richard, Sawyer and Erik hauled the sack out of the room, he slid off his bed and followed.

He lingered at the door, looking back. "Coming?" His voice was softer than I'd initially imagined it to be—and very much vulnerable, I realized.

I hesitated, cast one glance at Sorano, before I jumped off the bed and ran after him; I didn't feel safe remaining in the room alone with her.

We couldn't lock him up and hope Shane would suffocate because there was a high chance Brain would find him and free him. Sorano—who had eventually followed—suggested offhandedly we chuck Shane into the sea. Macbeth insisted that he do it.

We stood back and watched—gape, in my case—as Macbeth and Erik heaved the sack and toss it, their thin arms so used to labor work in the Tower of Heaven, straining and trembling under the weight before—

The sack hit the water surface with a heavy splash.

"Done," Erik hissed.

Two dead.

Six brats left.

In silence, Richard—the eldest among us—led us back to our sleeping quarters. We stood at the foot of our respective beds, awkwardly eyeing one another. Macbeth seemed keenly aware that no more would a sandy-haired boy be bidding him a goodnight before climbing up the ladder to his bed above—fake kindness and the betrayal of who he thought of as a friend sinking in.

Macbeth closed his red eyes.

"Thanks."

He cracked an eye open briefly when he realized he wasn't the only one to have spoken: all of us had said the same word at the same time.

I exchanged awkward glances with Sorano before she climbed up the ladder and settled onto the bed atop mine.

We left the lights on.

But we had the best sleep since we boarded this ship.

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><p><em>You'd notice I've changed the MC's name to Niran and I've neglected defining the MC's gender. I've decided for a unique take: it's up to the interpretation of the readers whether the MC is male or female. Could've been a girly guy, could be a boyish girl. Feel free to refer to Niran as either he, she or they. Just not 'it'.<em>

_Edited, Tuesday 23 June 2015_

**R&R**


	3. iii

Hiro Mashima © Fairy Tail

* * *

><p><em><strong>iii.<strong>_

_**Dragons Among Us**_

* * *

><p>"Where's Shane?"<p>

"He's gone," I answered promptly, brusquely. All of us were alert, no longer bleary-eyed because we had gotten a good night's sleep. This was a huge improvement.

Brain did not pursue the topic further. But his gaze, shifting from one of us to another, was calculating. Evidently, he didn't think we could work together. There was an unspoken agreement among us that we do not harm one another.

_An enemy of an enemy is my friend._

I did feel guilt churning in my gut at the thought of Shane—in the end, we weren't different, he wanted to live as much as we did. But it eventually dissipated. After all, I hadn't pushed him into the sea. His blood was not on my hands.

(I was innocent, I did no wrong and my enemy is dead, I could just burst into a song)

This was how the world worked. The strong were targeted to ensure their safety; the weak were targeted because they could not defend themselves. That night, yesterday night, I had proven myself to not be as weak as they initially thought I was, but certainly not the strongest either.

No more deaths or accidents happened and Brain didn't try to get rid of anyone. But the silent tension in my shoulders did not ease until the ship docked.

We reached the main land on the third week. I could kiss the ground. I had missed this, the feeling of firm ground beneath my feet. While I was not seasick, the vast expanse of sea could be sickening after the novelty wore off and I think the others shared the same sentiments.

"We will walk," Brain rumbled. "No complaining. A good wizard must be strong in both mind and body." With that said, he cut off any protests that might come, Brain marched forward, the rest of us trudging after him like the obedient little soldiers we were.

We weren't complaining; the older kids were used to working as slaves, which meant hard work from morning till night. I had only started a week before I was spirited away by Brain but this body was durable and lasted far longer than my original body could have.

For this, I was grateful. I didn't want to come off as a weakling.

The sun was in the middle of the sky by the time we arrived and my legs were ready to fall off. I wasn't the only one; Sorano and Richard looked as tired as I felt. Richard was, uh, big-boned (to put it nicely) and Sorano was a delicate creature, as she wouldn't hesitate to tell you why she was worn out so quickly. Sawyer was only covered in a thin layer of sweat, breathing slightly haggard. Stamina-wise, Erik and Macbeth seemed to be dominating that field.

"This will be our base of operation," Brain spoke after so many hours of silence as we trudged through the thick, dense forest, that I started—maybe Niniane's jitteriness had rubbed off on me—when he broke the silence. I checked and saw that he hadn't broke a sweat, prompting Sawyer shot him a deep look of admiration.

I rolled my eyes. We crossed the vast distance toward the main entrance. It was a castle; built from grey slabs of rocks and while it looked imposing, a fortress to keep prisoners in as well as to repel invaders, I couldn't help but be impressed. I let out an appreciative whistle as Brain allowed us entry. The Entrance Hall alone could fit an average mansion or I had that impression because of my extra-small height.

"I will send each of you a map," said Brain, finger tapping his temple as he channeled his magic.

I couldn't sense anything different but—something tickled my head and—with sudden clarity, I knew my way around. "I downloaded this information into your minds so it would not be too hard to find your way around. The seven of you will be sharing a room. Move along. I shall summon you to my study once you've settled down."

There were eight beds and it made me wonder if Brain had intended to bring all eight kids he handpicked intact to this castle. I shrugged. Tough luck.

Mel's face surfaced; that shy, freckled girl and what became of her.

"I need a bath," I muttered to no one in particular before leaving.

**~{III}~**

I felt like I was a criminal about to stand on trial. What I felt now, I imagined those accused to be feeling. I placed a hand on my chest, inhaling and exhaling. I hated how my fingers trembled as they touched the doorknob and turned it.

"You should knock before you enter someone else's private space, Niran." Brain's voice rumbled, locking my limbs in place. No, he didn't use magic. My own terror had me chaining my limbs. I blinked at Brain.

"Er … sorry?"

Brain frowned. "Show some confidence, Niran. Posture straight, shoulders high, chin up." I snapped into position, right shoulder nearly bumping into the doorway in my hastiness to obey—like a well-trained dog, I thought bitterly. Brain's frown eased slightly. His lips twitched, as if he might smile in approval. "Do you know why confidence is important, Niran?"

I would've shrugged and responded neutrally—"I dunno"—but there was a hard glint in his eyes that stopped me. I had a feeling he wouldn't like someone so indecisive. I considered his question seriously even as my eyes flitted around the room for an exit—just in case. "Because utilizing magic requires a firm hand. One indecisive move and something blows up in my face… or someone else's face."

Brain hummed. "_Close_, but not quite," he allowed, gauging me. "Confidence is a reflection of your willpower, the strength of your mind. It takes an enormous amount of concentration and mental ability to use Magic. Faith—belief in yourself, _confidence_—is one of the beginning steps to learning Magic."

My mouth carved a shape of surprise. "Oh." I did … not know that. I roughly knew about the plot and while fights had Magic involved, I had never actually known how the mages learned Magic aside from getting a teacher. "So, meditation exercises?"

"Meditation is to increase the amount of Ethernano within a mage's body; culminating the amount of Ethernano in a container will stress it to the max. You have a large amount of Ethernano in your container, you have no need for meditation—continuous usage and training with magic will be what help you improve."

"How do I do that?" I asked.

Brain tossed something. The object—a round orb—sailed through the air and I fumbled to catch it. It was cool and tingled beneath my touch. I turned it around and over, inspecting it curiously. "That," said Brain, "is a Lacrima."

"And it does what, exactly?"

"That is an empty Lacrima—it contains the ability to store a mage's magic—and, in some cases, it can give you a clearer sense of what your magic is."

Thinking about my magic automatically led me to thinking of how I'd blown something up. It wasn't an explosive type magic like Shane's … that much I could tell as I hadn't even been in contact with where Jellal had been standing.

"How do you know whether I'm a Caster-type or a Holder-type?" I queried.

Brain arched a brow. "How did you know about the different types?"

I blanched as I belatedly realized my blunder. Struggling not to splutter for an answer like a guilty brat, I said, in the calmest tone I could manage, "Well, my mother told me about it." My tone trembled and my eyes wouldn't focus Brain.

His smirk told me he knew I was lying but he didn't pry. "After your little …_display_ before Jellal," he began, "I can easily tell as you have no medium to channel your magic power through; you're a Caster-type though what sort of magic you possess, I'm uncertain as of now."

"That's what this Lacrima is for," I reminded him.

"You're learning." He was sneering. "Send for Sorano, Niran. Come to me immediately when you've achieved a result."

I bowed. "Yes, sir."

**~{III}~**

So here I was, warring with a freaking Lacrima and my own stubborn magic powers. I was _thisclose_ to chucking the Lacrima at the wall. I didn't because a) the Lacrima was bloody expensive and b) I would have no way to harness my latent ability then.

I plucked the Lacrima off the carpeted ground and placed it in my lap once more. Pouting at it was ineffective. I closed my eyes and concentrated, imagining heat in my palms. I couldn't clearly recall what Magic felt like. I only felt fury when I was confronted with Jellal's smug _mug_.

… Hey, that sounded like it'd work.

I pictured Jellal—that shitty little brat who was younger than me but was having me slave away for years—in my head, his smugness and how much I wanted to punch his face in.

Before I knew it, I was crushing the Lacrima hard enough to crack it instead of channeling my magical power into it. I bit back a shriek of fury—and one of surprise—when a voice spoke directly into my mind. Like, seriously. No one was in my room; the room that had walls and a red carpet and a single bed. Brain's voice sounded like it was spoken through a glass cup: "Niran, gather in the dining hall."

"Meeting?"

"Unless you can survive on an empty stomach." Then he shut the connection down.

No, I couldn't, I thought. Food sounded very appealing right about now. On cue, my stomach grumbled an agreement.

Right, I'd work on magic once my stomach was full.

I meandered to the dining hall. Night had fallen like a veil: the castle was dark and only the torches illuminated the way. This darkness … unnerved me but it was still better than being in the Tower of Heaven where everything was the complete opposite of its namesake.

(I could hear Niniane screaming again.)

I closed my eyes and forged ahead.

**~{III}~**

When my training had not made any progress, I decided to ease some of my frustration by visiting the others, holding the hope that they were doing as badly as I was. Sadly, that yielded no results as they were improving by leaps and bounds but to add more to my coiling fear—_what if Brain gets rid of me if I don't succeed by today?_ Those were the thoughts that kept clouding my head, overshadowing my anger towards Jellal that might've helped activated my magic.

I learned, in the short amount of time here, a lot of things.

_When you were weak, you have to rely on others._

_When you rely on others, they might discard you._

_When they discard you, you die._

Brain didn't ask to see me for one whole week. On the seventh day, I skipped breakfast and lunch altogether just to avoid seeing him, and he did not contact me through telepathy.

My stomach was trying to kill me clawing its way out and towards the dining hall but I remained seated in the middle of my dark, cold room, trying—and trying and trying.

Work with me here … if I die, it's all over—or I'd be sent to somewhere worse.

I didn't know who I was thinking to at that time: a deity, my growling, disobedient stomach or my Ethernano packed to the max in my body but unwilling to be drawn out. Whichever of those above, they heard. Something in my aching stomach churned—I thought my stomach was _really_ eating my intestines to compensate the hunger and my eyes flew open in alarm.

No, that wasn't it—

The Lacrima in my hands wobbled; the air around it shifted and in the blink of an eye, a flash of white and black had clamped down on the Lacrima. I shouted in shock. The next second, the Lacrima was three-fourths gone. I stared in bewilderment at the remains of the crystal: for a moment, I thought sharp, shark-like teeth had sank into the Lacrima and ate most of it.

My surprise aside, I _finally_ managed something!

Ignoring the hunger that seemed to have been momentarily appeased by this discovery, I leapt to my feet—grinning for the first time in days—and shot off to where I sensed Brain was.

**~{III}~**

The next few activation of magic was faster, swifter and surer now that I had an experience to base the feel of magic upon. A loud whirring sound—like a vacuum-cleaner—in my ears and what I was aiming for would disappear with a bang. It wasn't explosion as I'd initially mistake it for … it seemed to have been eaten up by the distorted space, as much as I could see. It happened too fast for me to be really sure.

For the following weeks, I practiced adjusting its range and number. How many of those 'portals' could I manifest? How large could they potentially be? How draining are they?

I made notes in English.

Speaking of languages … apparently, English was a language spoke in another nation altogether—it wasn't native to Ishgar, where I was currently—so I had to be careful not to reveal to Brain that I knew English. Ishgarian seemed to be the equivalent of Nipponese here.

I belatedly realized that, while I could speak Ishgarian, I didn't know how to write that well. Basically, I was illiterate.

So you can just imagine my enthusiasm when I actually needed to _study_. Not just Ishgarian, but magic runes and ancient runes as well. Then the basic mathematics, just for show. I didn't want to know what Brain would do to me if he knew I was a reincarnated soul. I tried not to meet his eyes too much.

Brain taught and raised us. I could see why Macbeth became so attached to him. Brain no doubt appreciated Macbeth more than he did us because the boy was the one quickly picking up on magic and improving by leaps and bounds. Even though Macbeth had the tendency to sleep in and nap a lot.

In spite of knowing what he'd do to us—betray us—I couldn't help but feel … grateful.

We were clothed and fed. We were allowed to eat as much as we want and we lived a luxurious life in this fortress. So much so that I could almost forget Niniane and the Tower of Heaven—almost. Sometimes, I was shaken awake by Niniane's scream as she pleaded with me to stay; I could see Mel's corpse; heard Shane's enraged yells and I'd be trembling beneath the blanket again.

The grand library became my reprieve. If I couldn't sleep, I'd head to the library—my favorite haunt—and scour books. Brain, true to his codename, had a wide variety of books that could stimulate the brain into working overtime. I memorized maps, learned about the rich variety of cultures, studied the limitations of magic and its rules.

There was so _much_ … so many interesting stuff here. The kids at public schools probably weren't taught science as much as magic. For the first—absurd—time, I wished I could go to school. That was when I knew I'd cracked. The deprivation of sleep wasn't helping either.

To preoccupy myself from disturbing thoughts and nightmares, I'd taken to … let's say further my studies. I was sure it wasn't against the rules of Magic to practice two types of Magic. Shane's Magic came to mind before other types did. Why? Mostly because of how versatile it had seemed and how it was the second-best magic I knew well.

I'd seen firsthand how destructive it could be.

Destructive power was what I could make use of.

So why not learn it?

I began perusing the books in the grand library about Touch Blast, Shane's kind of magic. I could find time to practice it once was regular sessions of practicing my own magic was over.

"… Niran?"

I raised my head, eyes abandoning the book reeking of Black Magic—I had a bad attention span, okay? I swear I began with a book on Explosive Magic and I somehow end up in this section of the library—in favor of resting on the pale-faced boy standing at the doorway. The hallway seem over him was dimly lit by torches burning with flames that never seemed to extinguish as long as Ethernano was in the atmosphere. "Macbeth," I acknowledged, whisking hair out of my eyes—Niniane's habit, damn it. "It's late. What're you doing up?"

"I could ask the same of you," returned Macbeth levelly, approaching my desk laden with maps, history books and dozens of books about teleportation, space distortion and explosions. He eyed them discreetly. For the first time, I recognized how unnerving pupiless red eyes could be.

I grunted. "I can't sleep. Nightmares from the bloody Tower, y'know."

The silence on Macbeth's part was contemplative, considering. "I couldn't sleep either," his voice was slightly quiet. "I thought I was the only one who had nightmares."

"Not every night," I added in case he pitied me. I didn't need pity. I flipped the next page of the book, making a big show of scanning its contents even though I was curious as to why Macbeth pulled a chair to the table and plopped down there.

"Brain told me to warn you about the dangers of reading such dark Black Magic," said Macbeth.

I grunted. "You mean the evil reeking from it? I can tell."

"There are some books you should avoid," Macbeth continued, "Some of them are cursed."

"Then why did he leave them here?"

"… I did not ask."

I snorted softly, closing the book when it became clear it was sucking away at my Ethernano just to have its contents be revealed. Most books centering on Black Magic had this method of safeguarding. It stirred my interest and may be the main reason why I was so absorbed in returning to the library to scan through them even though intentions of practicing Black Magic was far in the future.

I had an idea at one point … damn, can't remember it …

"Are you okay?" Macbeth queried, brows slightly furrowed. He reached out to shake my shoulder when my vision blurred together.

"Yeah, just tired." _Finally!_ I thought but I didn't say. "A good night's rest will do me good."

Macbeth paused. "My room … is closer." His voice was slightly hesitant. "You can rest there for the night instead of traipsing back to your room."

I was pleasantly surprised by his offer. I guess he was trying to repay me for saving his life. "…Thanks." And maybe, he thought that having someone else there would scare away the nightmares. I thought the same.

**~{III}~**

* * *

><p><em>The main reason why I was rewriting this is to fit the latest chapter's revelation: is anyone up to date about the relationship between Zeref and Natsu yet?<em>

_Edited, Tuesday 23 June 2015_

**R&R**


	4. iv

Hiro Mashima © Fairy Tail

* * *

><p><em><strong>iv.<strong>_

_**Dragons Among Us**_

* * *

><p>A good night's rest could do wonders for anyone.<p>

Breakfast hadn't even begun before morning found me speeding to Brain's office. As he'd pounded into my head, I knocked hastily before hearing his grunt of affirmation and I entered his private space. "Niran," Brain grunted, dark eyes narrowed—he was not a morning person. "What is the problem?"

"Oh, I just wanted to ask something." Brain gestured me to go on, impatience in the flick of his wrist. I spoke quickly: "Some of the books I read suck out my Ethernano, I was wondering if there's something—a Lacrima perhaps—could absorb Ethernano from the atmosphere, perhaps?"

Brain was rubbing his temples as he pondered about what I'd brought up. "… Perhaps if one puts in the effort to create such a Lacrima. Why?"

"Well, a mage can't use magic once his or her container is empty and needs to wait a certain amount of time before it's replenished," I began, "What if we artificially input a second container in the body? A container that can actively absorb Ethernano at a much faster pace than the natural Ethernano within us? So if we ran out of Ethernano, we can just switch to the second container's store. Wouldn't that give a mage twice the amount of stamina in combat than the average?"

Brain's eyes abruptly cleared. Evidently, he found my theory to be interesting—enough for him to not dismiss me immediately. He steepled his fingers, expression contemplative. "Yes, yes, in theory that could work … you've raised an interesting suggestion, Niran." His smile had softened from steel to rock. "What do you say we work on a project together?"

A grin lit up my features. "Yes!"

**~{IV}~**

I could've holed myself up in the library and continue researching if I hadn't have a training schedule to adhere to. Martial arts and magic training. Only during when we trained our physical capabilities did we children converge in the same, large hall that served as our training grounds within the fortress—the place was large enough that it didn't bother me at all Brain never let us out.

"Morning, Macbeth! Sawyer!"

Macbeth inclined his head in my direction; Sawyer waved as he continued doing laps around the grounds.

Of the five children, I'd consider Macbeth and Sawyer—tentative—friends. The rest were … let's say we had little in common.

Erik was always bragging. Sorano was high and mighty. Richard talked too much for my tastes. They might think I was too sullen but whatever; everyone had issues of their own. Until we could sort them out, I figured it was best we try not to grate one another.

"What're we doing today?" I asked.

"Sparring, okay?" Richard interjected even though I'd asked Macbeth about it. "We'll continue where we left off yesterday, okay?" Add his annoying verbal tics—okays in every sentence, seriously—and his age, we didn't click. "The stronger we get, the faster we can complete missions and we can get money—"

"Shut up, Hoteye," snapped Sorano angrily.

"Why, Sorano?" whined Richard. "I was just telling the truth, okay?"

"Don't call me by that filthy name!" the white-haired girl shrilled, lashing out. Her kick connected with his shin. "From today onward, that girl is no more! There's only _Angel_." Richard's eyes narrowed and he, with his large build, lunged at the smaller girl. I thought it was grossly unfair but eh, she'll live.

"I guess that means we can—" I turned to see Macbeth being confronted by Erik. I scowled.

"Fight me, Macbeth."

"What's your problem, Erik? Ass still store from where I kicked it?" Erik rounded one me when I spoke. I crossed my arms, smirking arrogantly—something I could mimic perfectly once I saw how those bratty kids I put up with daily during physical exercise could pull it off.

"You didn't beat me," Erik spat contemptuously. "You cheated."

"All fair's and square in a fight for glory," I retorted, tossing pink hair out of my eyes.

"You're on, you sssschisssst." Erik's hiss was the only warning I got before he tackled me, sweeping the air before me with a high kick. Macbeth narrowed his eyes as I maneuvered my way out of Erik's consecutive, tireless attacks. I subtly shook my head—there was no need for him to interfere, I could do fine on my own.

That message gotten across, I raised my arms to block Erik's punch. My arms ached but I ignored the pain in favor of snatching his wrists up and jackknifed upwards. In the blur of motion, I saw Macbeth approaching Sawyer—they'd be partnering one another for today's sparring session, I suppose.

I paid the price for my momentary inattention: Erik had arched out of the way, ripped his hands out of my grip, and had retaliated with a foot to my cheat.

The air was knocked out of me. I gasped, coughing and my abdomen ached from the force of my cough. "What's your damage, Niran?" he mocked.

Snarling an English curse, I jumped to my feet and re-engaged him in combat.

**~{IV}~**

Half a year passed in the same vein. I was pretty content with that until Brain handpicked me and Macbeth to accompany him to some meeting. Flattered as I was, I wasn't thrilled when I found out who we'd be meeting: Grimoire Heart's Hades and Tartarus' Kyôka.

"I do not understand," I said, not as hesitant to voice my thoughts now that I knew Brain better. Hours accumulated in days spent researching tended to strengthen bonds and wipe most formalities away. "It's a meeting for the leaders of criminal syndicates, why bring tagalongs?"

"Meeting between Dark Guilds' Masters," corrected Brain, a faint frown of annoyance appearing on his face. "From what I hear however, Tartarus' Guild Master is unable to attend."

Oh, yeah. Tatarus' Guild Master was E.N.D—Etherious Natsu Dragneel—and I still didn't know how that happened. I couldn't imagine a time-gap between Natsu being raised by Igneel and him somehow forming a guild before or after Igneel disappeared and he joined Fairy Tail. A representative has been sent in place and it was that she-demon.

"What's the point of this meeting?" Macbeth inquired politely, voice ever so mellow.

"We are here to establish the Balam Alliance," Brain replied, smirking. Klodoa parted the bushes in his way with a blast of Dark Magic. I stepped past the smoking foliage to follow Brain and Macbeth. "Our goals center on one man that ties this alliance together."

"Zeref." The name brought a chill down my spine.

"We seek Nirvana, not the mage himself—unlike the other two guilds. It's absurd to think that Zeref is still alive even after so many centuries." Brain snorted at the thought. He halted in his steps. I tensed as I sensed a … darker, stronger—much, much stronger—presence in the area of the Dark Forest.

The Dark Forest, as its unoriginal name implied, was where all the nastiest criminals lurked. Even the Magic Council would think twice about stepping into here. I felt at home here though.

"Faith is magic, Brain," rumbled a voice. My eyes darted to the figure materializing from the shadows. Hades was as imposing as he was portrayed to be: he was old but his sheer presence was amazing. My limbs somehow felt numb around him—was his Magical Power so immense it pushed gravity? I glanced at Macbeth to see how he was faring.

Discomfort was playing on his face but he quickly hid it when Hades' eyes shifted to him. Reflection Magic might be in place to distort Hades' magic.

"Do not be so quick to dismiss what we sought for with our lives." Hades arched a brow. "These are yours?"

Brain opened his mouth to speak but the rough chuckle originated from another's throat—a woman's throat. I looked. "_Humans_. How you waste time and effort to raise children when your lifespan are so pathetically limited simply escapes logic."

"Children they may be," conceded Brain with a dark scowl, gesturing to Macbeth and I. "However, they carry on our legacy."

"I would not expect Demons to know the importance of continuing the legacy," Hades noted distastefully. For once, Brain and Hades seemed united as they switched mutinous looks towards Kyôka.

_Demons?_ Macbeth mouthed, startled. I nodded mutely, gazing in shock at the woman—her hourglass figure and curvaceous chest would've garnered much attention—but her face with distinctive aviary features, distorted the effect of beauty.

"Why bring them here?" inquired Kyôka. Her gaze was imposing. Her inhuman eyes lingered on me. I pursed my lips, trying not to let how intimidated I was by them. They were here to build an alliance—an alliance I knew would hold strong for years to come before crumbling completely with the three guilds' defeat—so I did not expect them to bust out attacks at one another beyond verbal barbs.

"They must learn," was Brain's cryptic reply. His dark eyes flitted to me, assessing—always gauging our progress.

_We are weak._

That was the lesson to be learned today. Macbeth and I—and the others at home—were still children, we were still growing so the weakness was excusable for now. This was supposed to be an eye-opener for us: we must get stronger, the rate at which we were improving was not enough.

From the scowl on Macbeth's face, he knew it too.

Though my eyes were locked on the birth of the Balam Alliance, my mind was drifting. I had to complete the absorbent Lacrima. It was the only way I could think of catching up.

**~{IV}~**

"So, so, how did the meeting go?" Sawyer—or, Racer, as he wished to be known as—greeted us cheerfully enough at the front entrance. He, unlike Angel, did not seem resentful he had not been chosen to accompany Brain on this … field trip.

"I must say, it was really refreshing. The scenery was great and the people were interesting. If they could even be considered humans." I pinched the bridge of my nose. I could still clearly recall Hades' immense Magical Power. I hadn't felt the same amount leaking from Kyôka but I suspected she was only suppressing it and she utilized Curses instead of Magic so perhaps Curses couldn't be detected by Mages.

Racer arched a brow. "What do you mean?" he asked, glancing inquiringly at the silent Macbeth.

"The woman we met is a Demon," Macbeth answered slowly. "To think we saw one with our own eyes…"

"The representative from Tartarus," I clarified. Racer may have been the only one to ask but I was pretty sure Erik, with his newfound power, was eavesdropping. While his hearing could stretch across the distance, I knew he still hadn't reached the competency of hearing our hearts and deepest thoughts, something for which I was grateful for.

I had a lot to contemplate, namely about our future, and I didn't need him to be prying into my thoughts.

"But everything went smoothly, yeah?" I nodded to answer Racer's question. "That's fine then. Want to spar?"

My eyebrow twitched in annoyance at the suggestion. Racer's superior speed made it hard to beat him in a match. Only Macbeth could match him with his Reflection Magic but even he was hard-pressed to defeat Racer. For now, anyway. Macbeth and I had been looking up Illusion Magic and I knew once Macbeth mastered that magic, he'd be the strongest of us all.

"…Fine."

Though I was beaten pretty badly, I contended myself with other thoughts. Racer concentrated solely on martial magic even as the other members of Oración Seis branched out. Oh, wait. It couldn't possibly be Seis now—since there were more than six of us.

_Siete. Seven._

Such an unlucky number, I thought ironically, my boots clicking against the cold, stone ground. Then again, that number was fitting to describe the bunch of us misfits still struggling with the concept of freedom.

I'd always thought the Oración Seis in canon had been strangely united, excluding Klodoa and Brain that was, and I figured they'd had that sense of camaraderie between them because they knew what sort of hell there was in the Tower of Heaven.

I couldn't help but wish to see that camaraderie between _us_.

I had a pretty good relationship with Sawyer and Macbeth … maybe it was time I began interacting with the others? Who to approach first? That was certainly something to chew on. While I was not a social butterfly, I did appreciate good company—or any sort of company I could get in this castle really. At this point, I wasn't picky; even Klodoa would do fine.

… Now that sounded very sad.

…

Ultimately, I picked Richard to start with. I knew what topic would interest him the most: money. After spending nearly an hour being the trampoline of his ideas to make more money, however, the torture—I meant conversation—finally paid off as he let slipped the real reason why he wanted so much money: to be able to find his brother now that he had money as his resource and once reunited, he'd have the money to give Wally a good life.

"Wally," I repeated, sure that the name rang a bell in me. "I know him." My voice was scratchy from scrapping only syllables so far.

Richard's expression was priceless. "You do?" he asked incredulously.

"He was in the Tower of Heaven with us, wasn't he?" Had Richard not seen his brother? I knew the place was huge but it felt like every day that I saw a new face working with me in different sectors. "We shared a cell a couple of times," I lied glibly. I only knew Wally was still in the Tower of Heaven due to knowledge from the future.

"I didn't know…" I frowned in slight puzzlement when the pen in Richard's hand went rolling. He'd been doing serious calculations—he was a mathematical genius, beating even I who was supposed to be years ahead of him—with a maniac sort of devotion I was mildly disturbed about. "Why hadn't Brain brought him with us?"

"He has no magical potential," I replied swiftly. When Richard looked ready to spring to his feet, I was quick to slam my hands on his shoulder and hold him in his seat. He squirmed. "Calm down, jeez! Picking a fight with Brain about this is seriously … foolish." I grimaced at the thought of challenging Brain so blatantly.

It may seem we had our freedom already but Brain was still boss. He held our lives in his hands. We shouldn't act rashly if we wanted true freedom. "Brain didn't know you had a brother there and he's not doing charity; even if he'd known, why would he have reunited you and your brother?" I arched a brow when genuine surprise flickered across Richard's plump face.

"Brain picked us for a purpose—to be his tools." I tapped his forehead, feeling derisive irony welling in me. I see, even if he was intelligent in his own right, he was still …_ naïve_. In this world, I'd seen that the good and the bad were separated by large margins. If someone was nice, he or she was truly nice, there would be no selfishness in between. There was the wolf wearing sheep's clothing, biding their time until they showed their true colors; they were evil to begin with, nothing to expect from them. My point is that people here tend to make the assumption that if you showed a shred of kindness, you were a good person.

This was … refreshing. In my previous world, nearly everyone thought the worst of one another at first impression.

But that also meant when you showed a sign of evil, you're destined to fall until someone manages to pull you out.

"You didn't think he actually cared about us, did you?"

Richard gaped at me.

I smirked. "Now what's this about conquering other Dark Guilds and forcing them to pay us tributes?"

**~{IV}~**

I found Erik—oh, sorry, Cobra—lurking outside the cellar where Richard preferred hanging around. His ears were sharp and pricked; they twitched when his eardrums caught the sound of my approach. "Eavesdropping, Cobra?" I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. "Tut, tut. What a horrid habit."

"You really think that?" The constant low susurrus to Cobra's voice hissed in my ears. "That Brain only view us as tools to be used."

"Don't tell me you still haven't gotten the hang of sensing one another's magic?" I flicked my braided strawberry-pink hair behind my shoulder. "Brain connected us? The marks on his face … our magic corresponds with his. Organic Link Magic."

Cobra sneered. "That'ssss not what I assssked. I heard. I know exactly what he needssss the sssealsss for." He chuckled lowly. "I hear all, I know all."

"Good for you," I snorted, brushing past him.

"You're not ssssupposed to be thinking ssssuch ssstuff." I turned to look but Cobra was already gone. That was just peachy. He left me to ponder about his cryptic words—it was an awful distraction, especially since I was expected to be on my best today.

Today was the day Brain was finally entrusting me—and Macbeth with a mission.

A mission!

And not just t anywhere, but to Crocus—the capital of Ishgar. Understandably, I was excited. I wasn't expecting us to stay for more than a couple of days so I packed lightly. Sadly, in spite of the amazing Magic and Ethernano stuff in the air, we didn't have anything that could enlarge the space in a small purse and make it a pseudo-suitcase—so unlike Harry Potter but hey, this world was magic too, so I didn't complain.

Not much anyway.

No one came to see me and Macbeth off but I was pretty cool about that. I think we were both just too eager to really care. I kept my eyes peeled the whole journey—not in fear of any enemies. As far as I knew, Oración Siete had yet to exist so we were just Mages for hiring.

We took the train—I hounded the train conductor about how the train worked since there were no coals or anything burning—that I found out, was powered by Magical Lacrimas.

Crocus was large and grand but that was to be expected of the capital city. The buildings with bright facades and towers and extremely pointed tiled roof jutting upwards, were lined up the stone street's sides, some of which were pretty basic but as we crossed into another part, I saw some floral patterns.

It was crowded and jammed even though there were no cars or any other vehicles in sight. So different from my world … even the noises and smell were different. Clearly, this was a world untainted by air pollution.

I gripped Macbeth's hand tightly in case we were separated. Neither of us have Brain's handy Archive magic or even Telepathy so if we were separated, it'd be almost impossible to find one another for sure.

Macbeth didn't object, evidently, he had the same sentiments. If I got lost, he as the mission leader, would get a severe lecture from Brain.

"Excuse me, sir?" I still couldn't help but be surprised of how polite Macbeth actually was.

The man guarding his stall raised a brow in askance. "What?" His voice was brusque, not polite as we were not potential customers.

"Do you know where the Lemuria Villa is?" Macbeth, unperturbed, continued to use that polite tone.

"The Four Great families reside in the cardinal points of the city," the man said dryly, a wry twist to his lips. "I thought even toddlers know that." He sneered slightly at me. "Evidently not."

"Thank you."

I bristled angrily. "What? Why are we thanking him? He hasn't even told us anything!" I yelled, drawing quite a few people's attention. "Where's the villa?"

"It's the one in the west, connected to those woodlands," grunted the man when an old lady nearby shot him a disapproving look.

"…Thank—"

"No need," I snapped, cutting in Macbeth's sentence and dragging him away.

Due to the size of the city, it took us nearly an hour to reach the western of the capital (the railway station was in the eastern part) but courtesy of the physical training Brain insisted we go through, neither Macbeth nor I were fazed. I must admit, I felt a little smug.

"The kind old lady gave us the address," I grumbled. "But where is it?" I glanced around. The streets were mostly empty by now, before us were stone walls, probably to ward citizens away from the forest.

Macbeth frowned, examining the stone wall critically. Abruptly, he said, "Take my hand. We're going through it."

"You want me to blast through it?" I wondered, raising my left hand as my right was already grasped in his.

Macbeth shook his head. "No, follow my lead."

He was a sensible person so I wouldn't be too worried but the fact was, we were walking towards the stone walls… a few more steps and we'd smack face-first into it—

I stumbled when Macbeth broke into a run, pulling me along with him. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the impact but it never came. My feet was still hitting ground. My eyes snapped open, the wind whipped my face, and I turned to look back. The wall stood where it was but now that we were beyond it, it shimmered.

Of course. Macbeth's magic covered illusions, he could definitely tell an illusion when he saw one.

Note to self: place more faith in Macbeth.

"What's with that smile?" he asked me.

"Hehe. Nothing, bro."

We ran right to the main entrance. I knocked on the door. A man opened the door but judging from his attire: white button-up shirt, red tie and black coat, I assumed he was only a butler. He peered suspiciously down at us. "What are you children doing in here?"

"We're wizards that accepted the job requests—DON'T YOU DARE SLAM THAT DOOR IN MY FACE—!" I gritted my teeth, fists clenching. I slammed both palms on the door before Macbeth could stop me and sent small bursts of magical energy into it.

The door exploded. Macbeth groaned. Shrieks and yells of alarm resounded from within. I stepped through the smoke, arms crossed, and glared at the butlers and maids.

"Will you listen now?" Macbeth inquired, tone in polite mockery of what I'd done.

After the initial shock and wariness, the young lady we were supposed to protect showed herself. She was a delicate thing and I wondered why the wind hadn't done her in. Her hair was let loose, curly blonde locks turning gold under the sunlight. Her green eyes were warm and welcoming.

"I'm the one who hired you," she said. "My name is Tanya Lemuria. I wished we had met under nicer circumstances though." Her smile dropped as she sighed, world weary. Only then did I notice the black rings hidden under the thick dab of makeup.

Girls and their makeup, I thought, rolling my eyes. Then I froze. Wait, am I insulting myself too?

I left Macbeth to listen to what our client had to say. I was too busy puzzling that out. I mean, I'm a girl in my past life… at least the memories indicated so… but this body's…

"Niran!"

I blinked, snapping out of my daze. "Er, yeah?"

Macbeth frowned disapprovingly down at me, a faint reminiscent of Brain. "Let's go."

"Where?"

"After Ms. Lemuria, she offered to give us a tour around her house and we need to be around her anyway."

"So we're going to be following her for the whole day?" I whined, springing to my feet and trudging after Macbeth.

"Only until tomorrow evening, I think," said Macbeth. "The birthday party would be held tomorrow."

I was completely disinterested in what the future Head of the House of Lemuria had to offer. Unless she decided to show us to the treasury or her vault, I doubt I would be paying much care about how to get there. I yawned, raising a hand to cover my yawn.

It was about ten at night and we were standing outside the heiress' room, completely bored out of our minds. Well, I am bored. I'm not sure about Macbeth. "This is stupid," I muttered five minutes later, sliding down onto the carpeted ground, rubbing my eyes. I was a kid again, I need more sleep than the adults. "They're paying us 600, 000 Jewels just to stand here and look threatening?"

"There's nothing threatening about you," Macbeth pointed out.

"Shut it," I snapped.

A chuckle came from down the hallway. I looked up to see the butler who'd slammed the door in my face coming over to us. In his hand, he held a tray that had two steaming mugs. "You must be tired," he told us, smiling sympathetically. I scowled. "I brewed you hot chocolate," he said to Macbeth. "And milk for the little one."

"Hey!"

"Thank you," Macbeth even allowed a small smile to slip through as he took the mug of hot chocolate.

The butler grinned. My eyes widened in alarm—mug, Mel, explosion. I struggled to my feet. "Macbeth, don't—" The world twisted, curling and furling out like smoke. My scream caught in my throat as the ground gave away and I found myself tumbling down—and down—and—

"Niran?"

I groaned, forcing my eyes open. I rubbed the back of my forehead. "What?"

Macbeth frowned down at me disapprovingly. Reminded me of Brain and I winced, sitting up, noticing how everyone was staring at me. The young heiress' blonde hair glowed gold under the sunlight—

Whoa. Sunlight? I fought the lulling sensation and rubbed my eyes furiously. "But I thought it's night!"

"You must be tired," Tanya Lemuria said, guilt clouding her clear green eyes. "I'm sorry to trouble one as young as you but… my mother insisted." She threw the stern-looking woman with graying hair an exasperated look. "If you're tired, we can skip the tour altogether."

"No, no," I said, raising my hand to my head, trying to stem the headache. "I— I'll just stay here. Macbeth can watch you. I'll take a break."

Tanya nodded, rising. Macbeth shot me an unreadable look before following our client.

The moment they were gone, I darted to the closest window and gawked at the scene that greeted me. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows and casting me a shadow. This was impossible. Did I have a prophetic dream or something? Or is this the dream?

I pinched myself, but nothing changed.

I crouched, squeezed my eyes shut and cast my thoughts back to what had happened. Butler Andrew serving us beverages. Macbeth accepting the mug of hot chocolate. A blood-red mug.

I hate that color.

I hate mugs.

I hate—hate—hate what chaos they might be warning me about.

Someone died holding a red mug. Macbeth won't be going the same way. By hook or by crook, I was going to destroy that red mug. I didn't care if I had to pay for it, as long as that thing stays in the same area as me and if I can help it, I was going to destroy it.

I asked the first maid I came across to bring me to the kitchen, saying that I was hungry. She had a bored, apathetic air about her and I'm pretty sure she'd let me in the kitchen if I said I was there to take a bath.

The servants of this household didn't know magic as they used the normal way to wash the plates. The red mug was plainly visible. I seized it, snatching it from the girl's hand. "I'm just going to—"

Everything paused.

Then it happened again; the world twisting in on itself, curling like smoke. I yelled as I was thrown backward, back missing the ground and falling back and back and—

"Niran?"

Macbeth frowned at me. I was sprawled, half-way off the couch, gaping wordlessly up at him.

Again.

I nearly screamed.

Fortunately, I managed to swallow it. Macbeth looked ready to lecture me but Tanya Lemuria, for the third time, offered to give us a tour. This time, instead of slinking away into the kitchen, I followed Macbeth. Not one of them seemed to remember that this had happened twice already.

Was this time-travel?

This was no longer a dream or a nightmare or mere déjà vu cases. It was all too vivid. Just to be sure, I pinched my cheek and, growing more frustrated at this farce, scuffed my foot on the carpeted ground. The soft sound drew Macbeth's attention and he turned to me. "What's wrong?"

I contemplated telling him and letting him deal with it. After all, Macbeth was a genius, or so Brain says. Somehow, the words didn't come out of my mouth.

Brain gave us a specific mission and assigned us partners because he knew we could work well together. This job was deliberately chosen to let us pass a test.

Macbeth had probably passed his test by deciphering the illusion that kept his place hidden. I had yet to do anything to prove myself. I wouldn't put it past Brain to be watching us even now.

"Niran?"

I shook my head. "I'm okay. Let's continue the tour." I tossed Macbeth a halfhearted grin, mind whirling for a solution to this dilemma. The prospect of being stuck in this was horrifying and the fear kept me motivated.

I knew it, the red mug was the key. Someone had placed a charm on it to turn back time. Touching it would result in an instant turn of time. It took seconds though. The time was long enough for me to combust it.

Tch. Ironic how Shane's magic used on a red mug once had killed Mel and yet, now, it was going to be what saves my life.

Really, life has a weird way of working things.

"Macbeth, I want more sausages," I said, poking my guildmate in the ribs.

Tanya chuckled, taking a sip from her mug. "You two are like siblings."

I shrugged. Tanya rubbed her hands together. I frowned. "You're cold? Put on those comfy gloves I saw your mom wearing."

Tanya smiled. "Don't worry, it's out of habit. And besides, they aren't too fashionable…" She giggled.

I blinked, looking away. "Mm-hmm."

I continued the farce until ten. I was as tired as the first time but I forced myself to be alert and switched places with Macbeth. This way, I would be able to take the red mug before he does. At exactly five past ten, the Andrew the butler showed up, smile on his face.

"You must be tired," he told us, smiling sympathetically. I scowled. "I brewed you hot chocolate," he said to Macbeth. "And milk for the little one."

I launched myself at him, fingers closing around the red mug. It started working its magic: the world twisted.

Oh no you don't. "Explode!" As the red mug exploded into pieces, the world righted itself, straightening once more. The butler and Macbeth both staggered back.

"Niran, what—" Macbeth's eyes widened slightly when he saw the sun slanting in. It was noon, judging from the glaring light. "I though it was night—" The door to Tanya's room flew open; her golden curls were disheveled, eyes wild and wide.

"Do you know what day it is?" she demanded.

"No," I said, starting to have a sinking feeling about this.

Andrew fumbled for his watch. "Uh… it's broken."

I looked at Macbeth. "Don't let Andrew out of your sight," I hissed at him from the corner of my mouth, taking the flustered heiress' gloved hand. "Let's go to the living room. We'd talk things out." We were all settled in and I was staring at my hands splayed in my lap, unsure of what to say.

It had been five days since we entered this mansion. Tanya's birthday had passed four days ago. And all the time, we were trapped, repeating the actions of May 23rd.

I shook my head. "Unbelievable."

"Only time in this household has been turned back," one of Tanya's faithful servant announced, gasping, having just returned from scouting for information in the city. "Everyone has been going on about their daily lives."

Tanya's mother scowled at us. "Why did it take you two so long to realize what was wrong?"

"I … I think it's because we triggered the charm," I mumbled, shrinking under the old lady's furious glare.

"WHAT?" she shrieked.

"Mother," admonished Tanya gently, holding up a hand to silence her. "Explain, Niran."

"Macbeth and I are wizards"—I ignored the old lady's muttering of 'incompetent ones' and tried not to punch her—"and we're the only ones to not wear gloves. I think the mug activates at the touch of bare hands and since Macbeth and I each touched it once in different times—"

"I doubt it's time-travelling," interrupted Macbeth. "Control over time is a lost magic, no one has it anymore. I think it would be more plausible that this is hypnotism—a powerful hypnosis, charming us into reenacting May 23rd over and over again."

Tanya frowned. "I suppose it makes sense. If my birthday party was not held where I would be crowned, I would never be the true head of the Lemuria house."

"So that's what your relatives are aiming for," I mumbled.

"But who is the caster?" wondered Tanya, voice soft and tremulous. She was scared that someone she obviously trusted so much had betrayed her. Tch. I doubted it.

"Well, Andrew the butler brought the cups to us twice—"

"It wasn't him though," Macbeth cut in, placing a hand on my head, warning me to not interrupt. "We do not know who it is. We just have to go on with your birthday party."

Hasty preparations were made. Tanya's mother supervised everything and under her stern glares and barks of disapproval, the servants were quick to made the necessary preparations. It was hastily done but it was still grand. Macbeth and I stood guard over Tanya till night where we would take the night train back to Clover Town and walk all the way back to headquarters.

Tanya kissed my forehead. "Come and visit soon." Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

Macbeth took my hand and we departed. I was tired, yawning every few minutes and after minutes of whining, Macbeth agreed to piggyback me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, sighing. I wanted to sleep but a question kept bugging me.

"Hey, the reason you didn't let me finish back there, when I was about to reveal the culprit—"

"What were you going to do? Blame Andrew?"

"It wasn't him," I admitted petulantly. "Andrew was there for only three months—a newbie. This powerful hypnosis must have other mediums in the rest of the household, someone who knows it well enough to hide it where people wouldn't find it so easily and trigger a hypnosis even the caster was powerless to stop. At first, I thought it was him too. But then, I remember at dinner… Tanya was holding that red mug. Did you notice?"

"She was the only one who didn't wear gloves," Macbeth stated. "And this morning, she didn't either. She looked almost sad."

I yawned, eyes drooping. "Never thought anyone would want to refuse such a political power offered to her… Don't understand it… I would've jumped at the chance to be the head of a noble house…"

People were strange.

**~{IV}~**

* * *

><p>The characters in the story refer to Niran by differing gender pronouns, each according to their own assumptions; don't let what they say cloud your interpretation though. :)<p>

_Edited, Tuesday 23 June 2015_

**R&R**


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